


We Are Kings

by chameleontattoos



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleontattoos/pseuds/chameleontattoos
Summary: What's a girl to do when she's spectacularly bombed every "important young adult milestone"? You know the ones: getting that first part-time job, finishing her island challenge, going to university, holding down a significant other for longer than four months. All the good stuff.Do a runner from the rest of her responsibilities and join a gang,is apparently the answer. Who'd have thought it, huh?Well, nobody's ever called Casey a pro at exercising forethought.
Relationships: Guzma (Pokemon)/Original Character(s), Guzma (Pokemon)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The rain came down in thick sheets, so heavy that it was almost impossible to see through. A lone Trainer stood just inside the gates of Po Town, squinting through the veritable wall of water and trying to gauge how far it was from there to the mansion that lounged at the opposite end.

“Oh, sure, Casey, break into Po Town at three in the morning. Brilliant idea. Night time. In the rain. Good plan,” she would’ve been heard grumbling to herself, if there’d been anyone else out and about at that hour.

It being just a tad past the butt-ass middle of the night, she was lucky to even be able to see vague shapes and colours, really. Venturing all the way out there by the light of the full moon was the smartest decision she’d made in recent days, but that was saying something, considering how going out there in the first place was probably one of the _worst_ ideas she’d had in recent days. It had probably (definitely) been cocky of her to expect that the downpour would let up _just for her_. As if the Tapu, or the ever-present storm clouds, would suddenly change their minds about soaking the walled-in village because one puny human would rather not receive the same treatment. She was just one insignificant little speck. Why should the Tapu care?

Bringing an umbrella would have been smart. Just as insurance, should it be raining just like it always was in and around Po Town.

She did not have an umbrella. Also, despite the bright moon, it was still _very_ dark.

“Xerneas, this place is _creepy_ at night,” she muttered, full of regret at having turned down Nurse Joy’s offer of extra batteries for her torch. The skeletal shapes of wind-tossed, rain-rotted trees were definitely not doing the gang-town any favours. It was the same brand of _unsettling_ as sneaking through the living room to get to the kitchen for a glass of water at one in the morning, feeling like she was being watched by the awful still-life paintings of landscapes her parents had accumulated while she’d been away. The trees may not have had eyes, but they were _watching_.

She took a few careful steps forward, keeping her eyes down and scanning the ground at her feet. She was determined to reach the Shady House before the sun came up, and it wouldn’t do for her to break her ankle on the way there. What a letdown _that_ would be.

Focussed intently on the cracked and washed-out cobbles, she didn’t notice the large, menacing shape that was approaching her from behind, seemingly unbothered by the torrential downpour. It loomed over her, blocking out what little moonlight managed to penetrate the unending rain.

A harsh whisper cut through the white noise of water striking against pavers.

_HEHEHEHEHE…_

She briefly raised her head, blinking water from her eyes and scanning the houses to either side of the avenue. Seeing nothing amiss, she continued on, picking her way along the darkened road.

She made it another ten metres or so before a pair of red, triangular eyes appeared directly in her path. They glowed like heated coals, hanging suspended in the air.

She scowled at them as more of the unearthly giggling echoed around her. “Knock it off. I’m having a hard-enough time not tripping over my own laces without you acting up.”

At her stern words, a large, purple creature faded into existence, a pout pulling down the corners of her wide, toothy mouth. _GAR._

“I know,” she said, patting Gengar’s paw soothingly. “But I need to concentrate right now, okay?”

_GENGAR._

“Thanks, buddy.”

Having no concept of the passage of time, what with her Dex left behind and the moon’s exact position being distorted by sheet after sheet of pouring rain, she had no idea how long it actually took her to get to the weather-beaten and paint-smeared oak doors of the mansion. But get there she did, and she stood triumphantly on the front doorstep, peering back through the deluge to see if she could see the wall; that point from which she had begun this courageous journey.

She could not see the wall.

“Of _course_ you can’t see the wall. You couldn’t see the house from the wall, why should you be able to see the wall from the house?” she muttered quietly to herself.

_GENGAR GEN_, came a formless voice from beside her.

“You hush,” she said to Gengar, wringing out her t-shirt. It was lucky that it never got below balmy temperatures in Alola, like, ever, or else the thorough soaking she’d just received would have been a sure recipe for a bad cold. Even the rain was, in all fairness, decently not-chilled.

Turning, she looked up at the doors. They were very, _very_ big. Like, at least two and a half times the size of a regular front door. Made sense, given that the Richie Rich who used to live there was—well. Rich. Big doors _screamed_ big money. It was like, _Gee, I’ve got so much spare dosh that I can buy myself a front door that’s only ten percent useful ninety percent of the time! Marvellous_.

She tried the ornate handle, but it was one of those handles that was just there for show and didn’t actually turn. There was a fancy lever lock-latch doohickey and a keyhole, but they were both jammed. No doubt to stop outsiders picking the lock and catching the mansion’s occupants with their pants down. Smart, but a problem for her in that moment.

“How the hell am I gonna get past those?” she muttered. Searching for an alternative, she took a few steps back out into the rain and looked up at the mansion’s façade. There were windows open (or smashed out) on the second storey, but no ladders leading up to them. She sure didn’t intend to climb the rain-slick walls. That would be a death sentence and a half.

_GENGAR?_ The ghost Pokémon materialised beside her, placing her clawed hand on the left-hand door with intent.

As she looked closer, she realised that there was a smaller door set into the larger one. Gengar had found a _real_ doorknob. She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a bean. Gengar accepted it happily, cradling it for a moment before throwing it into her mouth. “Nice detective work, buddy!”

_GAR!_

“Let’s see if we can actually _use_ this door, shall we?”

She might have been reckless enough to walk right into the middle of gang territory, but she was already pushing her luck. Kicking their door down might be taking it a bit too far. She twisted the knob carefully, and almost _painfully_ slowly, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself.

She expected the door to squeak slightly as it opened, maybe even scrape along the bottom of the door frame. But, nope. It went without a fight, smooth as a greased Diglett.

“So, they’ve moved on from stealing bus stops to stealing engine oil,” she murmured. Gengar snickered quietly from behind her.

Pushing the door open just wide enough for her to squeeze through, she found herself in what must once have been a super fancy grand foyer. Now, having fallen from grace and into the hands of a bunch of teenagers, it was covered in smears, splashes and purposeful splodges of neon-coloured spray paints, littered with rubbish and broken glass, and playing host to a goodly number of slowly disintegrating cardboard boxes.

And, she realised a moment too late, currently occupied by three very sleepy (and thus very irate) teenage boys, who had _definitely_ seen her come in, and were _definitely_ angry about it. They wore matching black, sleeveless jerseys with white crosses messily stencilled onto the front, were all three shoeless, and one of them wasn’t wearing pants. His visibly aged boxers were patterned with a rather fetching Miltank print.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she said nervously, holding her hands out beseechingly. “I was—I was hoping—”

The tallest of the three looked at his companions, snorted and crossed his arms. “Ya weren’t lookin’ for trouble, but you walked y’self all the way through _our_ digs, and now you’re here. Checks out.” The other two boys hooted with derision, slapping their self-appointed spokesman on the back.

_Teenagers_. She fought the impulse to roll her eyes. She’d made it this far without getting punched. It’d be a shame to break that streak now. “I was _hoping,_” she continued, “To borrow a few seconds of your boss’ time.”

The tall one gave her a suspicious look. “Whaddaya want the boss for? You got business?”

“Yeah, we ain’t just gonna let anyone upstairs,” one of the others cut in, “Specially not at this time o’ the night.” He stretched out his skinny arms in a fashion that was probably supposed to be intimidating and make his muscles bulge. He didn’t achieve either goal. The only thing that stopped her laughing at the display was the genuine concern that it would set all three of them off and they’d be on her like Carvanha.

“I know, but just listen—”

“We’re all ears,” the third interrupted her, looking very pleased with himself. She took a moment to look him over. His ratty socks and severe regrowth weren’t doing much to inspire confidence—or intimidation, really. The initial fight-or-flight rush had worn off; now, she was mostly just worried that she would misread a cue and wind up back outside on her ass in the mud and being pissed on by angry Tapu-clouds before she got a real chance to make her case.

“I need to ask him for a favour,” she said carefully. Regrowth glanced sharply at Tall, who looked back at him with equal sharpness. She sensed that their good humour with her was quickly running out. Her stomach churned anxiously. The Failed Plan Abyss yawned wide.

“Yeah, no. That ain’t gonna fly.”

_Well, shit_. If this didn’t work out, she’d be knee-deep in Miltank doody. “How do you know?” She knew she sounded desperate, but she _was_ desperate, so— “Please, at least let me talk to—”

Skinny scoffed, cutting her off. “Am-scray. We ain’t buyin’ what you’re sellin’.”

_GENGAR_. The harsh call echoed around the room, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

The tall grunt took a step back, looking around fearfully. “What—what the fuck was that?”

Her hand flew to her belt, where her Pokéballs knocked against each other like spheres on a Newton’s Cradle. The Ghost-type’s ball was lighter than the others. Unoccupied. _Whoops._

_GEN,_ the still-invisible Gengar rasped, this time following up with a bone-chilling giggle.

“That’s _probably _my partner. She won’t hurt you,” she said quickly. “She’s just trying to scare you.”

Regrowth’s eyes darted from one corner of the ceiling to another, wide as saucers. “It’s workin’.”

“Good for her,” she muttered. This was very much not going to plan. The idea had been to get access to the mansion, talk to Guzma, and finish off by living under Team Skull’s protection for the rest of her natural life.

It was a good idea, if slightly Mothim-eaten in planning. And execution. And conception.

_Impulsive. _The little, ever-present doubting voice in her head hissed at her. She pushed it down. The middle of an already bad situation was _not_ the time to be having a moment.

Gengar’s large, purple form swam into view, appearing gradually as though through invisible mist. Hovering in the air, she leered down at the trio of grunts.

“If—if that _thing_ is really yours,” Skinny stammered. His knees wobbled. “Call ‘er off, will ya? We wasn’t gonna hurt you or nothin’, I swear!”

She was fairly sure that yes, they was, but said nothing. They sure wouldn’t be trying anything now. She unclipped Gengar’s ball from her belt and held it up. “You did great, bud. Have a rest.”

_GENGAR?_ She frowned, the eerie red light of her eyes dimming slightly. She sank to floor-level, form solidifying enough that she didn’t phase straight through the carpet when she touched down. _GEN GENGAR?_ She levelled a narrow-eyed glare at Regrowth, who visibly gulped, edging closer to the others.

“I’ll be fine. These boys are just very grumpy because we woke them up. Right, gents?”

The teenagers nodded vigorously. The tall one held up his hands in surrender. “We ain’t gonna beat ya down, you got my word.”

“I already said that,” the skinny one sulked.

“Shut up,” the tall one hissed back.

Gengar gave her a look as if to say _good luck dealing with this lot without me_ before disappearing into her ball. She patted it fondly, returning it to her belt.

The grunts were already squabbling in low hisses and she cleared her throat to regain their attention. “Look,” she sighed. “I just need to have one conversation with your boss. That’s it.”

Regrowth frowned. “You can’t. He ain’t here.”

That was problematic. And also would have been nice to know _before_ she was an accessory to a group of children losing years off their lives out of pants-wetting fear. “Do you know when he might be back?”

The boys conferred briefly, talking in voices too low for her to hear what they were saying. “Tomorrow sometime, maybe?” Skinny said. He looked at his friends, seemingly having more to say, but apprehensive.

It _was_ nice to finally be getting somewhere, even if she’d had to (accidentally) frighten them to get there. “Is there something else?”

“You can, uh…” Taking the initiative, Tall was chewing ferociously on his lower lip. “We have a spare bed, if you wanna stay here and wait?”

“Only, there’s a catch.” Regrowth jumped in. “You gotta be out of here before they get back.”

It seemed counterproductive to let her crash in the mansion only to kick her out and make her come back, but she was still wet from being outside, didn’t really want to get wet again until she’d at least had a chance to relive what it felt like to be dry, and wasn’t going to look a gift Horsea in the mouth. Besides, they were doing their best to be helpful, if under duress.

If her terrible plan worked, she’d owe them one. “They?”

“The boss, and Plumeria.” The grunts all seemed to stand straighter at the mention of Team Skull’s solitary admin. Where they held respect for Guzma as their boss, it looked like Plumeria was the one who really kept up team morale.

“They ain’t gonna like it if they find ya here. S’a security risk, or something. Dunno what the fuck for, but the important thing is that if we fuck up, we’ll all be stuck on bathroom duty for a month.” Regrowth shuddered.

“Can’t have that.” She barely suppressed a smile.

“Let’s be clear here, lady. We’re only doin’ this for ya because o’ your fuckin’ murderghost, got it?”

Maybe she was imagining things, but she thought she felt Gengar’s ball jiggle at that comment. _Murderghost._ That trickster pillow? Bless. “I hear you. Loud and clear.”

When the tall grunt had said ‘spare bed’, it seemed he had taken ‘old and incredibly shitty bed’ and tried to dress it up some. She blinked down at the ratty mattress, thanking her mother for reminding her to get that tetanus shot.

“It’s all we got right now,” he was saying. “Everywhere else is all full up.”

“That’s alright,” she replied. “It’s the thought that counts.” It was highly unlikely she would have gotten a warm reception had they tried to fit her in with the other grunts, anyway.

“Cool. Well, just, uh. Don’t go tryin’ nothin’ sneaky. You gotta be out by sunup.”

“Will they really be back so early?” Guzma hadn’t struck her as the type to be up and about before at least a quarter to eleven, even on a weekday.

He gave her a strange look. “Course not. Less chance of ‘em crossing your path this way.”

“Because that would be a problem,” she confirmed. “Right.”

She was shaken awake bright and early the next morning. The tall grunt was standing over her when she opened her eyes, his own pair of peepers still cloudy with sleep. “C’mon, get your ass up.”

Her first inclination was to shake him off and roll over. That mattress was _not_ comfy. Sleeping had been difficult.

“Nuh-uh, lady. We had a deal, remember? You gotta be outta here like, _right now_,” he said firmly, jiggling her shoulder harder.

She waved him off and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.”

That got her attention. She groaned. _“Seriously?”_

“I told ya this would be what happened. You agreed.” The grunt made a frustrated noise. “Just—you got five minutes to get gone, alright? The next guys on guard duty ain’t been told you’re here. They’ll do worse to ya than we would have.”

He turned on his heel and wiggled back the way he’d come, weaving between stacks of broken furniture. “Nice doin’ business wit’youse,” he threw over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

“You need to cool it, G. You’re gonna scare the kids, storming into town looking like… _that._”

Guzma’s scowl deepened, and he huffed. He didn’t want that, but still. “Don’t tell me what t’do, Plume.”

“And have you sending them all diving for cover? Not a chance.”

“I ain’t _that_ bad,” Guzma grumbled.

“When you’ve got your undies in this much of a twist, yeah, you are. You’ve _got _to calm down.”

The large Bug-type walking to Guzma’s right clacked his mandibles in agreement. Guzma looked over his shoulder at Golisopod, affronted. “Whose side are you on? _Calm down?_ We just lost an easy battle to a fuckin’ kid, in case you forgot. Little shit has too much beginner’s luck.”

Golisopod chittered reproachfully, poking him lightly in the back with a claw. Guzma rolled his eyes. “Tellin’ _me_ to calm down…” he muttered, balling his hands into fists and shoving them in his pockets. He did feel bad for taking out his frustration on the Bug-type; he was only on his feet because he was a stubborn little shit and refused to get back in his ball once Guzma had finished patching him up.

“An easy battle that you didn’t have to challenge him to,” Plumeria pointed out. “You should’ve quit while you were ahead.”

“A loss ain’t _ahead_.”

“If only you’d showcased your genius mind _before_ you got creamed by Hala’s protégé, huh?”

“Pod.”

Guzma turned to the pair of teenagers trailing behind them in a last-ditch attempt at some Tapu-damn backup. They just looked at him, at each other, then back at him, and shrugged.

“Thank you all so much for the moral support. Really feelin’ the love.”

**TWO HOURS EARLIER…**

Malie City was always fun. It was fun! Good eats, plenty of tourists with pockets to pick, sum-zero competent cops. It was fun, and Guzma was totally not about to blow his top. Everything was _fine_, he was _in control_…

“_Shit_,” he hissed, watching helplessly as the large, white form of his last Pokémon collapsed unconscious into the dirt. That should _not_ have happened. Guzma did _not_ lose. Especially not to rookies, and _extra_ especially not to rookies being babysat by—

“Good effort, Guzma.”

Fucking Kukui. _Fuck_ Kukui. Fuck him and his lab-coat. And his hat.

“Yeah, whatever,” Guzma muttered, pulling out his wallet. Least he could afford to pay out of pocket for losing. Professor Smartass was the last person he wanted to have to write an IOU for. “I call fluke.”

“If that helps you feel better,” Kukui said pleasantly. The wad of bills crunched in Guzma’s fist as he clenched it, clamping down hard on the urge to sock the guy in the mouth. Condescending bastard.

“We’re done here,” he said stiffly, handing off the money and casting a sidelong look at Golisopod. Him and the rest of the team would need a rest and some munchies after the walloping they’d just had.

“Aw, man. You’re leaving already?” the kid complained. “I was thinking—”

“You thought wrong, doodlebug. I ain’t your friend.” Guzma turned away from the pair, crouching beside the big Bug-type. “Sorry ‘bout that, fella,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home, huh?” Pulling out Golisopod’s ball, he gently tapped it against the thick carapace and watched as his partner was sucked inside.

He caught the tail end of one of Kukui’s _I’m a smart scientist and I know things_ smiles as he rose from the ground, right before it disappeared behind a mask of mild indifference. He wasn’t sure which expression cheesed him more, but either way he sure wasn’t going to let Mister Professorman think he was slick. “You got something to say?”

One of Kukui’s eyebrows went up. “You always did have a way with kids,” he said.

It sounded like a dig. Guzma fisted his hands in his pockets. If he wasn’t crunched for time…

He exhaled heavily through his nose, doing his best to stay… not so much _calm_ as _hinged_. “Right now, the only way I’ve got is the one you’re in. Get out of it.”

“Poetic,” Kukui commented, moving aside with another one of his smiles. Guzma ignored him, already fantasising about the peace and quiet that waited for him back home. He’d get his team all comfy and fed and doctored, then probably take a long, _long _nap. A nap sounded _great._

The crunch of gravel under his sneakers quickly transitioned into the solid feel of bricked pedway as he passed through the Malie Garden arch and back into the city.

“Boss?”

He looked up, meeting the gaze of one of the grunts. The other stood a few steps behind, wringing his hands.

“Yeah?”

“We think we snagged enough cash to pay for some of the better stuff,” she said hesitantly. “Uh, meds, I mean. If you need them.”

“I’ve got it covered.” Guzma didn’t feel much like smiling, but he tried for one anyway. “But I appreciate the thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! So, uh, this fic is still very much a work in progress. I started it... gosh, at least a year ago now, and I haven't really gotten very far. Even the title and description are still subject to change. Mostly because longfic is daunting as hell to me, you feel?
> 
> But I sort of figured (and hoped) that if I finished this first chapter, and people like it, then I'll be more motivated to get on with the rest? That was how it went for my last multi-chapter fic, anyway. Unlike that last one though, this one is actually fully plotted. Fingers crossed that that helps!! I'll probably still be as slow at posting as I usually am, but knowing where I want to go should help me finish it, knock on wood.
> 
> You can expect each chapter to be roughly this length, give or take a few hundred words. Turns out that when you sit down to write a whole story instead of a bunch of vignettes, your brain gives all the descriptions significantly more Oh Lawd, He Comin.
> 
> As always, hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/solarfruit) for a good ol' chat!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey returns, and is finally able to talk to Guzma. The conversation... goes. It sure does go.

Guzma’s hope that he could just come home and have himself some damn _peace_ was dashed as soon as he walked in the front door.

“Boss! You’re back!” Dom jumped up from where he was sitting at the top of the stairs. “Shit, I gotta—hold on.” He disappeared into the room he shared with Ollie and Gary. Someone started not-quite-yelling just before the door closed behind him.

Guzma didn’t want to _hold on_. He wanted to go upstairs and become one with his four-poster bed. He was _grumpy_, he was _wet_ and he was _tired_, damn it.

_This better be good._

Guzma waited for his little group to get inside and out of the rain before he shut the door, clenching and releasing his unoccupied hand inside his pocket. “Holdin’,” he said to the empty space.

“What happened?” Plumeria asked.

“Dommy’s real excited about somethin’. Dunno exactly _what_ yet.” He nodded in appreciation as Kayla, who’d ducked into the downstairs laundry room, came out with a small stack of towels. “Thanks, Kay,” he said, taking one of them and shaking it half-open before dumping it unceremoniously onto his own head and scrubbing at his wet hair.

“Wasn’t he on sentry duty last night?” Plumeria wrapped her pigtails in her own towel and started to gently squeeze the water from them. “Maybe something happened.”

The door reopened and Gary stumbled into the hall, clumsily tugging his shirt on. A few of the youngsters were hitting growth spurts around then, just by coincidence; Gary was still working on remembering where his arms and legs were. Ollie followed behind, rubbing at an eye with one hand and patting down some serious bedhead with the other. Dom was last in line, holding the beat-up notepad that every grunt on night shift sentry duty used.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Guzma replied, nodding in their direction. He slung the towel around his neck and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing at the sharp tug of a knot. “I’m gonna need to borrow one o’ your million brushes after, though.”

“Yeah, sure,” Plumeria said easily.

Dom skirted around the other boys, hopped onto the banister and slid down, artificially green hair blown back by its own breeze. He landed neatly on his feet, launching right into his report. “Alright—uh, hey, Boss. Plumeria. So—”

“Wait _up_, you dick.” Gary picked up a nearby (empty) soft drink can and chucked it at him, hitting him squarely in the back of the knee. “We’re coming.”

Dom bit his lip, glancing at Guzma before looking down at the notepad.

“Hey,” Guzma said gently. No matter how he felt about being held up, an anxious kid was an anxious kid. “You’re doin’ fine, D. Just give ‘em a sec to get down here, then you can start. Alright?”

Dom nodded gratefully.

“And no _throwin’_ shit, Gare. We _talked_ about this.”

“Sorry, Dom,” Gary said, ducking his head.

Guzma made a mental note to have another talk with Gary about being patient with the others. But, in the meantime: “What’ve you got for us?”

Dom’s fingers tightened around the sides of the notepad. “W-well, there was an… uh…” He turned to look at Ollie, now standing behind his shoulder. “Intruder? Visitor?”

“Uninvited visitor?” Ollie offered.

“Uninvited visitor, yeah, that’s good,” Dom nodded. He blinked, forehead creasing. “Unless she _was_ invited? I—We didn’t ask.”

“Not invited by me, no.” Guzma frowned. _What kind of person would be game to pull this kind of stunt in the middle of the night?_

“Me either,” Plumeria added, jaw tight. “Who answered the door?”

“None of us, technically.” Dom grimaced. “She just opened it and walked right in.”

“But we were all there!” Gary interjected, voice cracking a little. “Honest.”

Guzma would have believed him even without his wide-eyed, panicked expression. His was a trustworthy bunch, no matter the shitty brush everyone else painted them with. “I know you wouldn’t slack, Gary. It’s cool.”

The tops of Gary’s cheeks flushed. “Thanks, boss.”

“_Anyway_,” Dom continued, with a sidelong glance at his roommate, “She walks in, and she wants to… talk. To you.” The sceptical purse of his lips told Guzma exactly what he’d thought of _that_ proposal.

Guzma didn’t blame him. Something real juicy was up if some random girl thought it would be a good idea to waltz into the beating heart of Skull territory and—what, sit down for tea and cakes? _What is her _deal_? _“What did she look like?”

“Blonde, maybe brunette? She was wearin’ a hat. Uh…” Dom looked down at the notebook and made a face. “Ollie, you’ve _got_ to write slower when you do these, man.” He angled it to better catch the dim light and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

“Not my fault you can’t read my handwriting,” Ollie said.

“Fuck you,” Dom returned; there was no real nastiness behind it. “According to Ollie’s Trumbeak-scratch, she was somethin’ like five-two, five-three? Not dressed fancy, but not not-fancy.”

“Did she have any Pokémon with her?” Plumeria asked.

“Oh _boy_ did she,” Gary muttered, rubbing his arm as though he felt a sudden chill. “I get the heebies just thinkin’ about it.”

“A Gengar,” Ollie clarified at Plumeria’s questioning look. He grimaced. “A real strong one. Scared the piss outta all of us before she called it off. But she seemed super worried about somethin’, and I think that was what set it off. She wanted a word with you _real_ bad, boss.”

“You kicked her ass out, right?” Guzma asked, working hard to keep his voice even and not let too much frustration bleed through. He didn’t want this woman anywhere him, his crew or his turf.

Ollie’s gaze dropped guiltily to his toes, and Plumeria sighed. “Ollie.”

“The Gengar was _big_, Boss.” Ollie toed at the ratty carpet under his rattier sneakers. “We didn’t wanna make it mad.”

“So…?”

“We set her up on one o’ them,” Ollie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the corner of the foyer. There were a couple of rusty old beds tucked back there, if memory served. None too comfy, but they’d do in a pinch. “Told her she could sleep there, long’s she was out before y’all came home.”

Guzma opened his mouth—to tell them off for being soft or just to use some choice cusswords, he didn’t really know—but Plumeria cut in again before his total lack of a brain-to-mouth filter could cause an upset. “That was very kind of the three of you.”

“And is she—” Guzma started, tone sharp enough that Plumeria shot him a warning look. Guzma paused, ground his teeth, and tried again. “Did y’all see her gone?”

Gary nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. She was dust _way_ before you got back.”

Guzma inhaled, long and deep, through his nose, pinching the bridge as he exhaled. “Alright. Okay. So that’s done with.” He dropped his hand and started for the stairs, feeling the siren’s call of his bed.

Just as his foot landed on the bottom step, and almost too quiet for him to hear, there was a mumble of, “_Well_…”

He huffed, not turning around. “_What_.”

Dom cleared his throat. “She… Might be back? But we—it ain’t definite.”

“‘Course it isn’t,” Guzma grumbled under his breath. _If_ she came back, he’d at least get some straight answers. He already didn’t like the sound of her. She seriously thought she could just _show up_ and ask _him_ for a handout? Hilarious. Louder, he said, “I’m takin’ care of the team, and then I’m goin’ to bed. I don’t wanna hear nothin’ from no one unless she shows her face or there’s a fire, got it?”

He didn’t wait for a response, heaving himself bodily up the stairs and making his way through the broken window and over the roof to his room.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

“I one hundred percent blame _you_ for this,” Casey complained. She pushed the heel of her hand into the side of her neck, trying to massage out the cramp that had worked its way into the muscle. It was _highly likely_ that she’d fallen asleep, tucked away in an out-of-sight corner of Ula-Ula meadow, and the awkward series of angles that her body had settled itself into were ones that the average chiropractor would probably have things to say about.

_GENGAR GAR?_ Gengar said, blinking innocently.

“Yes, _you_.” Casey glowered. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know—” She gestured at herself. “Rearranged me? You _have_ hands.” She stretched her legs out, flexing her toes and rotating her ankles. “But _no_, you just let me _suffer_.”

Gengar stuck out her tongue to blow a raspberry so loud that an artist focussed on his pencil drawing halfway across the meadow jumped in fright. _GENGAR._

“Terrible. You’re terrible—isn’t she terrible?” Casey twisted at the waist to bury her hand in the soft orange fur of the canine Pokémon curled up next to her hip.

Growlithe snuffled sleepily, tipping her chin up for scratches. Casey was happy to indulge her, grateful that she seemed to have been forgiven for keeping her fierce protector in her ball during her short-lived adventure into Po Town. Growlithe had been none too pleased to discover Casey practically swimming in scents that she didn’t recognise, never mind the handful—anxiety, frustration, being wet—that she was usually around to keep Casey safe from.

_GENGAR._

“That absolutely counts,” Casey retorted, scrambling upright and wincing when her hip popped. “Ow.”

“Growl?” Growlithe nosed her hand, searching for the source of the pain—so that she could kill it, probably.

“Just my bones,” Casey said, rubbing one of Growlithe’s ears affectionately. “I’m alright.”

The streets of Po Town were, naturally, two hundred percent more populated by members of Team Skull now that the sun was out.

Well, _up_. For the sun to be _out_, it’d have to stop raining. And, in Po Town? Not going to happen.

None of the grunts touched her, but she could never feel fewer than two pairs of eyes on her the whole way up Main Street.

The one at the door didn’t want to let her in, at first.

“No one told me anything ‘bout any… _people_ who’d be coming around,” she said suspiciously, looking Casey up and down with narrowed eyes. “You’re police.”

“I’m not police,” Casey replied, wincing at the crackle in her voice. Xerneas, she sounded as tired as she felt. “Come on, I just want to ask your boss, like, one question. Three questions, tops. I’m not here to make trouble. Promise.”

“…Fine,” the grunt grumbled, stepping back to let her in. “The boss’ room is upstairs.”

The _upstairs_ part was easy enough. The _getting to Guzma’s room _part, though, was more of an exercise in balance and coordination than it should have been. She’d been able to see it, right over there on the other side of the second-floor landing, but the most direct routes to it were blocked up by messy, creaking barricades. What she was left with was—

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Casey blinked wide, trepidatious eyes at what was waiting for her just outside the window. To reach Guzma’s room, she’d not only have to brave the deluge _again_—she’d also be taking her chances on rain-slick marble tiles and a precariously tilted wooden bridge.

So much for dignity.

“_That_ is the _only way_ to get to him?”

“Yup.” The grunt leaning against the wall next to the window flashed a grin, taking an unnecessarily vicious bite of his apple. “That a problem for ya, li’l miss neat an’ tidy?”

“_No_, it’s not a _problem_,” Casey said petulantly. “It’s _unsafe_, that’s what it is.”

The grunt shrugged. “S’the only way over, so unless you wanna turn ‘round and go home, that’s the way you gotta go.”

Casey could hear him laughing at her as she picked her way along the roof. She was twitchy, not wanting to go sliding off the edge, and her efforts served the unfortunate purpose of shooting her balance to absolute shit.

Finally though, _finally_, she made it.

There were two _more_ grunts standing outside the door to Guzma’s room—and really, did security have to be _that_ tight? But they paid her no mind, and she opened it without a peep from either of them to find herself face to face with the man himself.

Well. Face to side-of-the-head.

Guzma was a picture of relaxation, sprawled crossways over an ornate chair and looking like he hadn’t a single care in the world. You’d think that he could have at least done her the basic courtesy of _pretending_ to care that there was someone in the room with him. But no—on the contrary, he didn’t even twitch when the door closed.

He did speak, though. “So, you’re the freeloader, huh.” He kicked up one foot to cross it over the opposite leg, but otherwise didn’t move.

Casey stiffened. _Freeloader_. The _nerve_! As though every single person living under Guzma’s own roof—

No, that wasn’t fair. Team Skull was a home for the kids who genuinely felt like they had nowhere else to go. They got warm beds, regular meals, and security both physical and metaphorical; in exchange, they were each other’s new family. Wasn’t that how Hala had described it?

“I suppose I am,” she said, ignoring the tutting disapproval of her conscience. She wasn’t a lost kid. She was a coward.

“Uh huh.” Guzma didn’t sound impressed. “And what exactly do you _suppose_,” he said, mocking her careful enunciation, “You’re doin’ here?”

“I need…”

There were any number of words she could have used. Phrases, even. Protection, somewhere to regroup, distance, a hiding place. Specifics.

None of those were what came out of her mouth. A weak-wristed hedger, that was Casey. “…Help.” She sighed heavily. “I need help.”

“You need _help_.” His incredulity was palpable and stifling. “From—who, me? Team Skull? I dunno what you’ve heard, lady, but we ain’t mercs. Or a hit squad. Don’t do armed robberies, neither.”

“From Team Skull. I, uh, guess. And it’s—I don’t want to _join_, not exactly, I just was wanting to… Borrow. Some space. Living space, I mean. For a while.” Casey winced at herself. _What was _that_, you absolute_…

“Why?” He turned his head, _finally_, to regard her with stony grey eyes. “You ain’t here for witness protection. Nanu ain’t that desperate. An’ I know you got at least one strong Pokémon with you. Nobody with any sense’d try to screw with ‘em.”

He wasn’t wrong about Gengar, but that’d be something to have a stress about not having realised for herself _later_, when Casey didn’t have an audience. Not that it’d be a particularly interesting performance. There would probably just be a lot of staring into space while she contemplated all the mistakes that she’d made in the last forty-eight hours.

_Later_, she reminded herself. _Deal with one sack of shit at a time_. Somehow, it was easier to stand up to him now that she was making eye contact. “None of your business,” she said stiffly, crossing her arms and replanting her feet. This was one man whom she would _not_ allow to verbally bully her into submission.

“None of my—alright, listen here.” He swung his legs around and sat up, already pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. He was a lot bigger sitting up. She _wasn’t_ intimidated. She _wasn’t_. “If you’re gonna come onto my turf, and you’re gonna drag shit in here with you, then that shit _is_ my business.”

“It’s _private_,” Casey retorted, standing firm. Nobody needed to know her shame. “But I’m not a missing person, there’s no arrest warrant—”

“That don’t inspire as much good faith as I think you think it does,” Guzma snorted. Casey opened her mouth to defend herself but he apparently wasn’t finished. “Look, lady, I already didn’t like the sound o’ you before you came in here, and I like you even less with all this screwin’ around.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re hardly Alolan of the Year,” Casey retorted. “Maybe I’m not comfortable whispering my dirty little secrets to a _thug king_ who thinks he can push people around when they won’t play nice!”

Ah, good. There went Casey’s big mouth again, making words faster than her brain could tell it _not_ to make words.

Unfortunately, the situation she was in was _not_ one of those situations where the words that happened as a direct result of her impulse-driven tongue-wagging were in any way helpful, funny or clever. Guzma’s whole body went rigid, his mouth becoming a hard line. “You really are just _next-level_ full o’ yourself, ain’t ya?”

Yeah, Casey could kiss ‘having safe harbour in Po Town’ goodbye.

“First you show up here past midnight, invite yourself in, don’t give no explanation for why you done either o’ those things. Then you come back after my boys kicked you out, askin’ for a sleepover, _still_ got nothin’ to say about why. And _then_—oh, and this is just _icin_’.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Then you got the balls to call me _names_ and tell me that I ain’t _playin’ nice_?”

He was right. One hundred percent right. He had his head screwed on, and she was just running around like a headless Pidove waiting for something to work out without bothering to put the work in, or network properly, or _anything_. Just like always.

Her eyes burned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and staring at the floor. Anger, frustration and fear had her windpipe in a vise, making it hard to speak. “It was a bad idea.”

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

“You’re damn right it was a bad idea.” Guzma crossed his arms, watching the girl suspiciously. She shifted her feet, hands going behind her back. A muscle in her jaw flexed, lower lip shaking.

No _way_ was he going to let her win. Not after she’d been such a royal pain in his ass. Still, it struck him as very weird that she was up on her high horse one minute, and practically folding in on herself the next.

Didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t staying.

“Ain’t got nothin’ else to say, huh?” he snarked.

Her head shot up. “I know what a ‘no’ sounds like when I hear one,” she retorted, shoulders going taut.

“Good. You know where the door’s at,” Guzma dismissed her with a jerk of his chin, kicking his feet back over the arm of his throne and throwing an arm over his eyes. Naptime, _finally_. “We’re done here.”

He listened as her footsteps receded, basking in the silence. At _last, _silence. _Good fuckin’ riddance_.

Sleep was tugging on the fourth-dimensional, somewhere-but-nowhere space between his ears again by the time the sound of Plumeria’s familiar tread crossed the threshold of his room.

“She’s gone.”

Guzma grunted.

“What did she want?”

“It don’t matter.” Guzma huffed through his nose, trying to keep hold of the almost-there drowsiness. “S’dealt with.”

“Guzma.”

“_What_.” He lifted his arm to glare at her. “I’m nappin’.”

Plumeria just looked at him, folding her arms and scudding her heel over the floorboards.

“I’m _tired_, Plume,” he moaned, dragging himself back into a sitting position. _Fuck’s sake, what’s a guy got to do to stay horizontal? _“I don’t wanna think about none o’ the shit she said to me right now. Can we do this later?”

Her gaze hardened. “What shit?”

“My _nap_, P.”

“Tell me first, then you can nap. Did she threaten you?”

“Psh. Please.”

“Was it extortion?”

“No.”

“Bribery?”

“_No._”

“Blackmail?”

“_No!_ She called me names, Plume. That’s it.” Guzma rubbed his eyes hard. Two more minutes. He could commit to being awake for _two more minutes_. Probably. “School playground-type bullshit. It ain’t nothin’.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Plumeria asked.

He scoffed. So what if being called a _thug-king_ bothered him? It was just words.

Not that it did bother him. “You’re the one worryin’, not me.”

“Alright.” Plumeria’s hands went into her pockets, and she shrugged. “I won’t fight you on it, I trust your call. But—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you if I need to talk about it.” Guzma slid out of his throne, thumped down the stairs and toppled onto his bed. “I’m sleepin’ now. See you at dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!
> 
> Nobody is as surprised as I am that I managed to get this out in two months, but here we are!!
> 
> Casey and Guzma's first contact!! It went horribly!! Party time!!
> 
> As always: come talk to me about this fic or anything on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/solarfruit)!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plumeria is right, Guzma gets beaten up by an angry purple body pillow, Casey works very hard not to lose her cool, and an accord is struck.

Rain was still coming down hard outside, because of course it was. The sound of the door closing behind her felt like a big red REJECTED stamp across her chest.

“Fuck.” Casey scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “_Fuck_.”

What a mess. What a stupid, ill-advised, zero-planning _mess_. She kicked at a puddle underfoot, sending a small cascade of water into the air.

_Why_ had she ever thought that would work? Blind optimism? Belief that Guzma would just _get it_? What a joke.

And then she had to go and be _rude_. Guzma was well within his rights to be angry with her.

“You did this to yourself. Idiot. Useless. Couldn’t even keep from running your mouth off for ten minutes.” She kicked the puddle again, snuffling angrily. “Typical.”

Both of the Pokéballs hung from her belt started to shake, their occupants sensing her frustration and compelled to take it away. Glancing down sharply, she clamped her hand over them.

“Cool it. I’m fine. And it’s wet.” Gengar would almost certainly cause another scene—which was _not_ what she wanted right then—and a sodden Growlithe was an unhappy and unwell Growlithe. They’d just have to wait until she got out of Po Town—and away from all the Xerneas-damned _rain_—to fuss over her.

Casey looked ahead, scanning the road. It seemed as though people leaving were less of a threat than people coming in; none of the black-clothed youngsters lounging among the detritus were even bothering to look in her direction.

“That’s something good, I suppose,” she mumbled, striking out for the front gate.

Her brain buzzed with worried thoughts as she stomped through puddles. With the Shady House so unquestionably _out_ of the question, the list of places that she could go where she wouldn’t be hassled by people who recognised her had shrunk to almost nothing.

Of the potential hidey-holes left, Aether House made the most sense. Protecting the disadvantaged was their whole bag; renting a room there shouldn’t cost too much.

But—no, she couldn’t go there. Lillie would be there, in the middle of her receptionist internship. They kept her busy; she had enough on her plate. And Casey had never been able to lie to her, so she’d end up spilling her guts, and then Lillie would _worry_, which would be an awful thing for Casey to subject her to, because the poor kid had her own issues.

Not only that, but she’d tell Hau where Casey was, and then Hau would tell his grandfather, and Hala would rat her out to her parents.

And, sure, maybe she was too old for them to legally drag her home without her consent, but the _lecture_ she’d get from her father. Stacks of disbelief and disdain. And pointed e-mails with links to _career-building events_. No thank you.

Going home on her own wasn’t even remotely an option. She was _out_, and she _wasn’t_ going back. Absolutely not.

Casey was almost at the gate when a particularly robust gust of wind ripped a rotting branch off its parent tree, sending it crashing against a nearby fence and scaring the living daylights out of her. She skittered sideways, heart thumping, cursing violently under her breath.

Thoroughly roused from her thoughts, she scowled briefly at the branch before her eyes were pulled to the house whose picture-perfect pickets had just been flattened by the forces of nature. The windows of the two-storey cottage were empty of glass; its front lawn was overgrown with weeds, door emblazoned with a bright orange gang tag.

Aside from the broken windows, the cottage looked structurally sound. Blinking water from her eyes as she examined it, Casey felt another idea take root in her mind.

_Technically_, Guzma had just told her that she couldn’t stay in the mansion. He’d never said a thing about not hanging around the town.

She shoved and squeezed through the front gate, which had been neglected for so long under the constant wet weather that it was more rust than cast iron. At some point in the past, a huge tree branch had come down and blocked the walkway up to the front door. The place looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years and years.

“Perfect.”

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Plumeria was well aware that she had a reputation for being _overprotective_ of the grunts. Truth be told, she welcomed it—it wasn’t like the rumours that she’d take matters into her own hands and deal personally with anyone who tried to screw with them were unfounded. She’d done it before, and she’d do it again.

She was like their adopted older sister; it wasn’t abnormal for them to come to her rather than Guzma when they had little, mundane problems that they needed help with.

One grunt who needed reassurance that the house in the far corner of town wasn’t haunted? Mundane. Two more, the same day? They were teenagers who liked to screw with each other and pull pranks, it happened.

But the one who had just exited Plumeria’s bedroom was the latest in a _worryingly_ long string of grunts whose stories about weird noises and flickering lights inside one of the places near the front gate were eerily similar. They had all sworn that they’d _seen_ these lights, and she was inclined to believe them. Her kids wouldn’t try on any nonsense with her. They insisted it was legit, so it was legit.

And the thing was, the house should have been unoccupied. The whole gang lived in the Shady House, on Guzma’s own insistence. And nobody but the gang lived in Po Town. The rest of Ula’Ula was afraid of them—except for Nanu, but Nanu was a crazy Meowth man, a cop, and a kahuna besides. Plumeria was pretty sure that the only living being who Nanu was even remotely intimidated by was Tapu Bulu, and that was tempered by a healthy dose of respect.

The grunts had told her that they would get chills every time they passed by the building, which they had no choice but to do because it sat right at the beginning of the row, next to the only way out. That was a problem. They had to leave the town _somehow_.

So, spooky lights, weird sounds, creepy chill. Odd, abnormal—concerning, but liveable, with practice. People living near cemeteries and church graveyards had to deal with that sort of thing all the time.

The part that worried Plumeria most, though, was that the few who had taken the initiative to get closer and try to work out what in the void was going on had something _take over their bodies_ and march them right back out the garden gate. That was not friendly ghost behaviour. It wasn’t outright _hostile_ ghost behaviour, true, but it presented the sort of situation where eventually something had to give, and something _would_ give.

Whatever was going on with that house, she would deal with it.

The first thing that had come to mind was that the Gengar from earlier in the week hadn’t left the neighbourhood. That seemed like the most logical explanation; if there’d been any other paranormal activity going on, Plumeria would have heard about it from Nanu.

If that Gengar _was_ hanging around, then her human partner wouldn’t be far. That would be next on Plumeria’s list of problems to straighten out.

Plumeria’s Golbat, perched on her shoulder, had one wing extended to shelter Plumeria’s head from the worst of the incessant downpour while she strode down the main avenue.

The air did seem to carry an extra chill as she got closer. Definitely more so than what they usually felt as a side-effect of the constant flood of tepid water falling from the sky.

The next step was to try and make an approach to the front door. As soon as she stepped past the broken-down picket fence, the mildly hair-raising chill in the air turned to frigid cold.

Plumeria paused for a moment, slowing her breathing.

_Something_ was watching her.

Ghost Pokémon could be vicious when protecting their turf. Plumeria did the smart thing and backpedalled until she had the bricks of the footpath outside the garden under her feet.

She looked up at the windows of the house. There was no movement, but that didn’t mean much. If the Trainer was hiding out in there, she wouldn’t exactly be announcing her presence to the whole of Team Skull.

Time to test her only solid theory.

“Hey,” she called softly. She felt slightly stupid, talking to someone who she knew was there but couldn’t _see_, but what else could she do? “Hey, Gengar. You out here anywhere?”

There was no response.

“Listen, I just wanted to know—I don’t want to cause any trouble, I promise. I just want to know if you’re around.”

A nearby lamp-post shook slightly. It was old and disused, just like all the other lamp posts in Po Town. The shaking could easily be put down to high wind—except for how the light at the end of it was blinking.

Plumeria hadn’t even known the town’s power grid still supplied electricity this far out, after so many years.

“Pretty conclusive,” she muttered to herself. “And how about your trainer?” she asked. “One flash for yes, two for no.”

The light went off for a long moment, blinked once and then dimmed.

“Thank you, Gengar.”

So, the Trainer really _hadn’t_ left like Guzma had been so confident that she would. That was going to be a fun report to make.

**A SHORT WHILE LATER…**

“Are you fuckin’ with me?” Guzma asked, brows pulled together in disbelief. “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?”

Plumeria took a bite of her sandwich, wiping mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with a careful finger. “Nope. I’m positive she’s up there.”

Guzma snorted. “There’s no _way_ she’s stuck around. There’s _no_ way. Didn’t you see the look on her face before she fucked off?”

“I saw her, Guz,” Plumeria said patiently. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t believe her. He’d always been stubborn; when he was convinced that he was right, it was hard to make him see otherwise.

Not that she intended to roll over. She sipped from her glass of water before pushing forward. “—But I _know_ she’s in that house. Too much _spooky_ lines up for it to be a coincidence.”

Guzma rolled his eyes. “Look, Plumes,” he said—not unkindly, but with a large scoop of that familiar, _masculine _cockiness. “I think you’ve been cooped up in town too long, and maybe you’re seein’ things because your brain needs somethin’ to do.” He dropped his empty sandwich wrapper; it landed on his foot, and he shook it off, standing up. “I’ll go check the place out myself, just for you. And when I get back, we can talk about findin’ you some business to take care of somewhere other than here. Sound good?”

“Sure. Thanks, G,” Plumeria replied.

He could believe whatever he wanted; she knew she was right, and so would Guzma see, soon enough.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Plumeria always had been the cautious one out of the pair of them. She was the counter-balance for Guzma’s more reckless tendencies, cautioning him against doing whatever stupid thing he’d decided was a good idea to go and do. Did he always listen to her? No. But he listened enough—he hadn’t gotten himself run over, drowned or poisoned to death yet, which was absolutely thanks to her.

Ever since they were teenagers, Guzma’d had a knack for getting himself into scrapes that he wouldn’t have gotten out of without backup. He knew that. And he was grateful to Plumeria for not giving up on his ass, especially after that one time they both nearly got swept out to sea by that rip off the Secluded Shore.

But her cautious nature _did_ sometimes mean that she saw threats where there weren’t any, especially where Guzma’s own safety was concerned. She loved to deny it, but that was the stone-cold truth. He was confident that that was all this was, plus a hefty smack of boredom. She was just imagining up a problem that needed to be solved, and she’d be at it like a fighting Granbull until it got taken care of.

And so, there Guzma was: making his way towards the little two-storey right at the top end of Po Town, in the pissing rain, getting mud on his just-cleaned favourite pair of sneakers. All because his best friend and second-in-command thought she’d seen a ghost.

Standing just outside the fence-line—and it really was more _line_ than _fence_ at this point, most of the pales having broken off—he surveyed the exterior of the house, one hand propped against his brow to better see through the rain.

Nothing moved. No lights, no spooky ghost noises.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured, letting his hand fall to his side.

He was about to turn away and start heading back through the sky-flood to the Shady House when a broken-off fence rail came hurtling towards him.

“_Shit_—” he yelped, scrambling backwards. In his haste to get away, he tripped over his own feet and went sprawling into a muddy puddle, spraying himself with dirty brown water.

“Ugh.”

Breathing hard, Guzma tried to make sense of whatever the _damn fuck_ was happening. Instead of being somewhere logical—laying on the ground, for example—the fence rail hung suspended in the air, barely a centimetre from his clavicle. It pricked his skin whenever he exhaled.

He wiped some of the silt from his face, blinking rainwater out of his eyes, and the faintest outline of a large, round creature—definitely a Gengar—came into view. One of its hands was closed around the other end of the long, sharp piece of twisted iron.

“Alright, so I _guess_ Plume was right about _that_ part,” Guzma muttered begrudgingly.

The Gengar’s form solidified some, and it pressed the post harder into his chest. _GAR_, it hissed, narrowing hotly glowing red eyes.

“What gives, man?” Guzma spluttered, raising his hands in surrender as best he could. “I didn’t do nothin’ to you. Didn’t even know you was here!”

He glanced around frantically, looking for the best exit strategy. Maybe if he ran _through_ the Gengar—he could skirt ‘round the side of the house and cut through the yards to get back to the mansion.

He tried to examine the Gengar without making himself too obvious. Hopefully it wasn’t so solid that he’d bounce right off its… middle parts. _Do Gengar have stomachs? _he wondered. _Do they need to eat?_

It growled at him, showing a disturbing number of very long, _very _sharp teeth. He smiled nervously. “Easy, there.”

Absently, Guzma noted that it was in pretty good condition. He’d never stopped to wonder whether a Ghost Pokémon could look _healthy_, but that one definitely seemed to be in better shape than he might have expected from a wild Gengar.

Unless it _wasn’t_ wild, which meant—

Guzma groaned. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” He let his head fall back to the muddy ground. He was going to have to get so much sandy crud out of his hair—if he even lived to see the inside of another shower, which he was having serious doubts about. “She’s _still here_?”

Plumeria was _never_ going to let him forget this. _Fuckin’… ballsacks._

_GAR_. The Gengar nodded, prodding him with the spike. _GENGAR_.

“Hey, hey, _hey_—” Guzma protested, trying not to squirm too much. “Lay off me with that thing. I’m gonna start bleedin’ if you poke me any harder. Would your partner want that?”

The large, purple creature paused for a moment, eyes dimming, as if it were in deep thought. _GAR_, it eventually said, shaking its head reluctantly. _GAR GAR_.

It pulled back the fence post, changing its grip so that it was holding it with both hands. Slowly and carefully, Guzma raised himself onto his elbows, watching it warily. It glared down at him, eyes back to shining like stoplights, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Listen, man, I—” he clambered awkwardly to his feet, making a half-assed attempt to wipe off the mud that clung to his jacket. His entire back felt covered in the stuff. Some of it had even seeped into his underwear, and it chafed something _fierce_. “I didn’t come up here to make trouble for y’all. Plumeria said you was here, and if I’m bein’ truthful, I didn’t believe her. I wanted to check for myself, prove her wrong. That’s it.”

The Gengar narrowed its eyes. _GENGAR._

Guzma tapped his chest with a closed fist. “Scout’s honour.”

The Pokémon nodded, lowering its makeshift spear. It tilted its head and stared at him, clearly thinking hard about something, and Guzma shifted uncomfortably under the weight of its gaze.

_GEN GENGAR._ It turned toward the house, gesturing with the pale.

“Come—come with—” Guzma sputtered. “_What?_”

The Gengar growled again—it almost sounded _exasperated_—and pointed at the door, rolling its eyes and waving the post at him. _GEN_.

“_Alright_, Tapu, don’t—I’m _goin’_,” he grumbled.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Casey had known, when Plumeria showed up, that she’d been made.

Not that she begrudged Gengar the chance to flex her muscles—it had been a while since the last time her partner had gotten to do a good haunting—but she did wish that the Ghost-type had shown a little bit more restraint. They might have been able to squeeze out a few more days of hiding in a back bedroom if she hadn’t decided to go full Hallowe’en Spooktacular on innocent teenagers.

Possession? _Really?_

Ah, well. There was no changing history, no matter how much she might want to.

After Plumeria’s visit, Casey had gathered her things together, secure in the knowledge that some kind of teen punk strike team would probably swoop in before dark and escort her out. She didn’t have much with her, so it didn’t take long: she rolled up her sleeping bag, tidied away the remains of her lunch, slipped on and double-knotted her sneakers, and she was ready.

Where she would go after this, she still wasn’t sure. Maybe Aether House was the best of a bad bunch. Maybe she could talk Lillie down from paging Hau as soon as she could.

(That was a weak, _weak_ maybe, bless Lillie’s caring heart.)

Growlithe was keyed up, sensing the stomach-churning anxiety that Casey was, quite honestly, doing her best to ignore. The Fire-type couldn’t seem to decide between pacing around the room, staring daggers out the window, and headbutting Casey square in the eye with her overenthusiastic attempts at face-licking.

It was getting old.

“Alright, baby-mine, you have to—” Casey managed to hook an arm around Growlithe’s neck before she could bounce away again, planting the other hand on her backside. “Calm down. Sit. Stay.”

The canine yipped in protest at the sudden and absolutely unwarranted headlock, tail whipping in agitation and neck stretched eagerly toward the window. Her butt hit the floor and _stayed_ on the floor, though, so Casey loosened her grip after another moment.

“_Good_ girl,” she cooed, rubbing one of Growlithe’s silky ears and smiling as the gangly pup leaned into her hand. “Let’s be calm now, hey? Let’s just both be—”

The sudden sound of rubber soles crunching on wet asphalt sent a frisson of cold apprehension down Casey’s spine. Growlithe jerked excitedly, putting up a renewed effort to see the world outside. Casey grasped her ruff firmly; whoever was down there, they would probably not be too pleased to have to contend with fifty kilograms of wet fire-puppy launching herself at them.

This was it. The moment of reckoning. Any second now, a bevy of black-shirted adolescents would storm in through the front door, and—

“_Shit!_” someone yelped, right before a wet-sounding _thud_.

“Gengar…” Casey sighed. Wet fire-puppy was likely the least of their worries now, whoever they were.

Growlithe whined, turning her head to look at Casey beseechingly. Casey raised an eyebrow at her, in response to which Growlithe delicately poked the very tip of her tongue out and lightly touched it to Casey’s cheek.

“_No_. I said _stay_, Growlithe,” she said firmly. “I’ll make it up to you later, alright?”

Growlithe huffed, giving up and flopping across Casey’s legs to sulk. The press of bony elbows into her thigh was awkward, and would definitely start hurting in a few minutes. But considering their little party would probably be pretty conclusively crashed sooner rather than later, that likely wouldn’t be a problem.

She sincerely hoped that Gengar hadn’t done anything that would bring the wrath of Plumeria—or, Xerneas forbid, _Guzma_—down on them. She _needed_ her money. And she was rather fond of her fingers and toes.

Caught up in catastrophising, Casey almost missed the sound of the door being opened. Feet—just one pair, she thought—squeaked wetly on the lino and approached the staircase.

She squared her shoulders, curling her fingers into Growlithe’s fluff to ground and calm herself. If she was going to be marched out of there by one single stringy-legged teenager, she was going to do it with _dignity_—

—Which, as thoughts went, was all well and good, but all the breathing exercises in the world couldn’t have prepared her for the sight of the main man himself tromping up the last couple of steps with what sounded like the entire ocean in his shoes, hair in tangles and plastered wetly to his head, and absolutely _covered_, head to toe, in a thin layer of mud.

He really was quite a sight. Casey had half a mind to offer him a shower, if only to delay the inevitable.

At least he seemed more _tired_ than angry.

Gengar floated up the stairs behind him, shepherding him along with some kind of sharp implement. He swatted at her irritably, grunting something too low for Casey to hear.

Gengar ignored him, breezing past him and perching on the windowsill. _GENGAR GENGAR!_ she said to Casey, sounding very pleased with herself.

“You did bring him, I can see that,” Casey replied, bundling Growlithe out of her lap and rising to her feet.

_Dignity_.

“Your ghost pal is a fuckin’ menace,” Guzma grumbled, stripping off his jacket and turning it inside out to wipe his face with it. “I’ll be washin’ this shit outta my ears for a _week_.”

The t-shirt he wore under the jacket had probably once been white. After the working-over he’d presumably gotten from Gengar, it had become a messy mottled brown.

“Sorry about that. She can get, uh…” Casey paused for a moment, trying to think of the right word. “Maybe too _enthusiastic_ about dealing with people who I don’t get along with.” She shot Gengar a pointed look. Gengar pretended not to notice. “We’re working on it.”

She’d never say so aloud—Xerneas knew Gengar didn’t need the ego boost, and she got the distinct feeling that Guzma wouldn’t appreciate it either—but seeing him in such a state _did_ make him at least fifty percent less scary.

Big bad Guzma’s fearsome energy came from hair products and a washing machine. Who knew?

“Enthusiasm.” He grimaced, raking dirty fingers through dirtier hair. “Sure.”

_GAR._ Gengar folded her paws primly in her lap. _GAR GEN GEN GENGAR._

“You ‘took him hostage’ so he would _apologise_?!” Casey repeated. “Gengar, bud, that’s—great initiative, but you can’t just _kidnap_ people when you want something from them. Not even for me.”

Gengar pouted. _GEN._

“Is now a good time to mention that she stabbed me?” Guzma interjected.

“You _stabbed_ a gang leader? _Gengar_.”

Gengar raised a paw, thumb and pointer finger held a short distance apart. _GENGAR?_

“Stabbing someone ‘just a bit’ is still stabbing them, bud.”

Guzma cleared his throat. “This is all _very_ fun to spectate an’ all, but could we move it along?” He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m gettin’, uh. Crusty.”

_Time’s up, then_. Casey nodded, picking up her bag and slinging one strap over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“You plannin’ on goin’ somewhere special for this?” Guzma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Casey stared at him, thoroughly confused. “I mean, no, I just thought—You’re not here to show me out?”

Guzma snorted, nodding at Gengar. “Could I, if that _was_ what I was here for?”

Gengar grinned malevolently. _GAR._

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” Guzma propped his shoulder against the wall. “T’answer your question proper, though: No, I actually didn’t come down here to toss y’all out the door. Plumeria—the pink one—she told me about your friend here hauntin’ up the place and how if _she_ was here, _you_ probably were.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “I didn’t believe her, wanted to prove her wrong, and now here I am with an asscrack full o’ wet dirt.”

“Oh,” Casey said, trying to wrap her head around her sudden change in fortune. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” Guzma blinked at her, brow creasing, and she scrambled to clarify. “For you! Unfortunate for you. Less so for me. I hope.”

She looked down at Growlithe, who gently placed a supportive—and heavy—paw on Casey’s toes.

“About that.” Guzma pushed away from the wall, balled up jacket in his hand. “I think it’s safe t’say that we got off on the wrong foot. I was havin’ a bad week, took it out on you, and I’m sorry. I dunno why you thought it’d be smart to break into my place at two a.m. to talk to me ‘bout stayin’, but we can get into that later.”

“Later?”

Guzma nodded. “Sure. After I shower off all of… _this_.” He pulled his sodden shirt away from his skin, making a face.

Casey’s stomach churned nervously. She knew what she was _hoping_ for, but blind hope had bitten her in the ass quite often enough over the last week. “What are you saying?”

“I’m _sayin’_, let’s call this take two. I got one condition, though.”

“What is it?” Casey asked, hoping it was something small, like _you’re in charge of taking out the rubbish_ or _you’re going to be my personal assistant_. Growlithe began to rumble quietly, reacting to her nerves. The fingers Casey dug into the canine’s fluffy fur were as much to comfort herself as keep Growlithe from body-checking Guzma down the stairs.

It had happened before. Or at least, there’d been an attempt. Growlithe had been a lot smaller back then, and had weighed roughly as much as a large jug of milk. If she tried it now, she’d have a lot more success. And Guzma would have a concussion, and possibly a broken bone (or three).

“You can tell me as much or as little as you want ‘bout why you picked Team Skull as your cover, but you gotta tell me _something_. Deal?” Guzma cocked his head expectantly.

Not something small, then. _Great_. “Can we… negotiate?” Casey ventured. Talk about her problems? _Ha_.

“Nope.” Guzma sounded way too pleased with himself. “You want in, I need a reason. Take it or leave it.”

Shaking on this _would_ take care of her immediate problem.

But _sharing her personal feelings_.

But a _bed_.

Ugh. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole second half of this chapter fought me _so hard_, but I got there. And it's wound up being the longest chapter so far at a solid 4.5k, so honestly? It all worked out alright in the end.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering: I personally love the headcanon that Pokémon change between evolution stages gradually, so that's what's going on with Growlithe. Once upon a time she was small, and now she's bigger and probably mostly consists of teeth and legs.
> 
> (I wrote [this little thing](https://tinythoughts.space/story/86) about Casey and her pals in their collective younger days, if anyone is interested!!)
> 
> And as always, come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/solarfruit)!!


	4. NOT A CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick heads-up on how things are going!!

Hi everyone!!

First of all, if you’re subbed to We Are Kings and thus got this update in your email inbox—thank you so much for your support, it means a lot!!

As some of you may be aware, I last updated this particular fic back in February. Here and there in author’s notes on other works you might’ve noticed that I mention struggling with writing the next part—I really wanted to put some kind of hiatus note in the notes of Chapter 4, actually, to give y’all some actual content before I got to the boring stuff. But then the chapter just really didn’t want to be written so I kinda shoved both it and any kind of status update into a mental cupboard so I wouldn’t have to look at either of them.

First it was because of fresh stress about the pandemic, the lockdowns, et cetera that I just couldn’t. Do the thing with a work that actually had a somewhat involved plot? (Hence the handful of drabbles and short fics that I _did_ manage to post because I just didn’t have to think so hard about them :’))

But _then_ what happened was that I looked at what I’d posted so far and I went, “Okay, not sure if I vibe with these narrative choices anymore but I can work with them I think,” which after several attempts at Working With Them became, “Okay, someone call the Supernanny because I’m having a crisis.”

All of which is a somewhat long-winded way to say: Last week I decided to try rewriting/updating those early chapters to see if that would help me figure out what was going wrong, and I’m not sure yet if I can say that I accomplished that particular goal but I’m not quite finished the first go around and I’m definitely liking them a lot more now.

Just to give you an idea of the kind of structural overhaul this bad boy’s had, Chapter 1 has now become Chapter 1 & 2 because I decided that I like the flow better when each character’s POV has its own chapter. The word count admittedly hasn’t changed much—it might actually be slightly shorter after edits?—but it sparks joy in me to have it laid out like this.

The thing is, in rewriting I also came to the realisation that I want to finish the whole rest of the fic before I post any of it, _just in case_ history repeats itself and I decide I hate the early chapters again by the time I get to the ending ones.

So essentially, this note is just to let y’all know that the fic isn’t dead—just getting a makeover!! I’ll be leaving the old chapters up until the whole of version 2.0 is ready to go, and I wish I could give you a rough estimate of how long that might take but I’m really not very good at predicting time frames so I’ve got absolutely no idea.

If you’re still here waiting after 9 months, just know I cannot possibly express how much I appreciate your patience. 2020 has been an absolute _fuck_ of a year for just about everyone I know, and if you’re like me then chaptered fic has been one of those things that helps make things a little better for a few minutes every week. I hope you’ll bear with me for another while—I may not be able to promise when the fic will be ready to read but I’ll definitely give status updates in the endnotes of other things I post!!

Much love,

Audrey


End file.
